News & Arts

Archives for 02/18/2007 - 02/24/2007

It certainly wasn’t the usual indie crowd at the Showbox for Sector 9 last night. Every post-hippie crystal-toting new school gangster for miles found their way to the sold-out show, mingling outside in a swirl of dreadlocks, gem wraps, crooked ball caps, and ticketless hopefuls. Despite the extra-thorough search at the door a fragrant cloud hung over the party-ready throng inside. These people well-lubricated and well-amped — one poor kid got dragged out by security before the first note.

Like Segal said in this week’s Data Breaker column, STS9 has a tendency to drip into the saccharine, and after a quick, upbeat start, that’s exactly what they did. It’s impossible to tell if it was patience or ecstasy that kept the crowd involved, but eventually the band broke out of its soft-rocking ’80s prime time drama soundtrack and into some serious funk. For a few tunes before the end of the first set, guitarist Hunter Brown took command and began peeling off rockish riffs in an unusually aggressive style.

That full-bore energy continued into the second set. WIth Brown stepping up into the lead role, the band accelerated through noodly wimpiness and into an almost shred-heavy mode. Normally these guys pride themselves at their egalitarian approach, no individual member taking solos or the spotlight. Tonight was different, with Brown the focal point, backed by the rest of the band’s breezy atmospherics and Zach Velmer’s bionic drumming. At several times it was impossible to discern who was doing what onstage — the array of laptops, sequencers, effects pedals and other doodads arranged around each player was enough to launch a space shuttle.

The band bent electronic textures around itself, refracting their instruments through their gear. Dave Murphy upped the ballast of his bass to an unnaturally bombastic level, his low-end detonation slaying the crowd. With hip-hop bounce, staccato percussion and layers of chiming guitar, STS9 fused into an Rjd2-meets-Tortoise electro-dance-rock hybrid. They closed out the show with a couple of well-loved older numbers, wordless anthems that sent the audience into orbit before sending them home with ringing ears.

I went to summer camp with Sector 9’s old manager, so I was introduced to the band years ago, before they became the high-performance touring machine they are now. It’s been fun watching them evolve their sound, which they’ve done consistently and drastically to arrive at a place where chops, technology, intellect, and passion intersect in a singular musical experience.

On Feb. 24, DJ Struggle and the Milkman debut the first Seattle-area radio show dedicated to the emerging electronic-music genre dubstep. The program, which I think is called The Dubstep Invasion, will air Saturdays 1-3 am at 91.3FM and will stream at www.kbcs.fm.

Here’s an interview with key dubstep producer Kode9 to which Struggle links on his MySpace. It may resonate with you later when you become obsessed with this music.

From the 313 Hyperreal list comes the DEMF partial lineup. After watching everyone get excited about Sasquatch, now I can join in the festival lineup anticipation fun. The list is below (emphasis my own).

If you’re a fan of the big dumb power-chord crunch of buttrock and you’ve never seen Buttrock Suites—featuring many of Seattle’s best modern dancers busting moves to songs by Scorpions, Def Leppard, G*n*f*n*R, and Aldo Fucking Nova—you are an idiot.

I first experienced the magic of BRS last year, and I was ridiculously entertained from start to finish. Tomorrow night brings a new Buttrock Suites show to Neumo’s, where the greatest hits of BRS will be performed for the first time in history with a live band.

I’ll be fascinated to see how this works out. For me, a lot of buttrock’s thrills come from its completely unnatural, buffed-by-Mutt-Lange studio-sound power gloss, but the presence and rawness of a live band might prove just as exciting for the Suites. We shall see, we shall see.

And conflict-of-interest alert: Tomorrow night’s show will kick off with a selection of buttrock readings, from such “Seattle luminaries” as Rebecca Davis, Bret Fetzer, Nick Garrison, Imogen Love, Cory Nealy, Sarah Rudinoff, and me. Word on the street says Garrison and Rudinoff will be reenacting Larry King’s interview of Tawny Kitaen, which is reason enough to go. For tickets, go here.

In another instance of indie-rock/indie-comedy crossover, dirty grrrl comedienne Sarah Silverman will host(ess?) this summer’s Sasquatch! Festival, taking place May 26 - 27 at the Gorge.

I’m rather ambivalent about Silverman’s schlock-and-raw brand of humor. I’ve read some hilarious bits from her in various hipster rags over the years, but last night I ended up watching The Sarah Silverman Program, her brand-new sitcom on Comedy Central, and was pretty meh about it. She’s funnier behind the camera than in front of it.

But Silverman sold out the Showbox last week, so some of you out there must love her.

Arthur Magazine— dead?

Arthur Magazine, one of my favorite print publications about music and culture is rumored to be done. Much of the magazine’s focus was on noise, psych and the now blown-up “Freak Folk” scene. Full of great interviews with the artists like Joanna Newsom, Will Oldham, Alan Moore, and Joe Strummer— along with great columns like the hippy-fied, “New Herbalist” by Molly Frances and occasional cultural rumblings of Thurston Moore— Arthur was also refreshingly politically engaged. One of the greatest pieces of journalism I’ve ever read was an interview with Godsmack’s Sully Erna, a pro-war knuckle-head who had no idea what he was getting into in his Arthur interview. I hope there’s a chance that the magazine will be fine, that everything is fine, everything is quite fine but if not, we’re losing some great writing.

THE FALL OF TROY, PORTUGAL. THE MAN, KANE HODDER, TERA MELOS
(El Corazón) The secret’s been out a while: You don’t really have to learn how to play your instrument so long as you cover up your lack of talent with a gimmick. Case in point, this current screamo/prog rock/whatever-core trend of half-assers who rely on air kicks, spins, flips (and makeup and costumes and lights) to enhance lacking live shows. Naďve pubescent fans don’t care—or don’t notice—that the music isn’t in tune, in time, or interesting. But Tera Melos, a mostly instrumental act from Roseville, California, don’t take any shortcuts—they flaunt jaw-dropping acrobatics and musical talent. For proof, search Tera Melos on YouTube and watch how fucking nuts these dudes go onstage. Then play the video again with your eyes closed. Even without the extreme body thrashing, their experimental, free-jazz-meets-hardcore noise is well played and blisteringly dynamic. MEGAN SELING

And here’s one of those Tera Melos videos I was talkin’ about. Sounds kinda muddy, but you’ll get the idea.

Joey Casio used to live in the filthiest punk house I’ve ever seen down in Olympia. Once, a roommate there came home to find a pair of raccoons rooting around in her bedroom. I heard another guy who lived there peed in jars and saved his urine. But this isn’t about urine or raccoons, this is about Mr Casio, the one-man party starting machine.

Joey’s always been an energetic performer and a talented beatmaker, but he’s only gotten better and better over the last several years, and last night’s Club Pop was maybe the perfect place to see him play. The (18 and up) kids of Club Pop come ready to dance, and Joey obligingly delivered plenty of gleefully bent electro made just for that purpose. The crowd was great, and everybody kept dancing after his set (to DJs Colby B, Paco, Deejay Jack, and Teabag), through Scream Club’s better-than-usual performance (everybody agreed they were very much “on” last night), and right up until the house lights went up and they kicked everyone out. The Antarctic Records crew has been doing Club Pop for a while now, but it’s really started to hit its stride as one of the best dance nights in the city. Also, the fashion on display is impressive (lots of suspenders and one neon blanket-as-cape). Also, there are no raccoons, and you don’t have to pee in a jar.

China cymbals, or more specifically, inverted china cymbals, are made to have a trashy, offensive, and explosive tone. Their origins lie with the gong in both sound and shape, and this is why they are given their name ‘china’.

A new episode of Setlist is posted. Click here (it’ll just stream right to your computer in a new window, no mp3 player required) to hear music by some pretty fantastic locals like Common Market, Tiny Vipers, Pleasurecraft, the Senate Arcade, and more.

Do you like sexy boys wearing tight pants and capes? Of course you do! So head down to the Tractor Tavern Saturday night for the fabulous surf-rock sounds of Portland’s Satan’s Pilgrims. Their party music will get you moving!

In a related story, a post from yesterday on the Guns n Roses website announced that the March 6 release of Chinese Democracy has been postponed.

Says GnR documentarian/site admin Del James: “The good news is that all of the recording for the album has been completed. Drummer Frank Ferrer and guitarist Ron ‘Bumblefoot’ Thal [pictured below] integrated themselves into the recordings seamlessly and will have their presence felt. There is no official release date, as the band is currently mixing, but after some delays and scheduling difficulties, things appear to be moving along.”

This guy always manages to bring a smile to my face – whether through his music or his good-natured wit, David Longstreth of the Dirty Projectors always entertains. I recently reached out to him to glean some insight on the new leg of what seems to be a two-year-long tour (you can read our other interview here, and check out some samples of his previous work through the Western Vinyl site here). His forthcoming album, Rise Above (which he previewed when DP played here last fall with Xiu Xiu), is set to be released this summer on the brand new Secretly Canadian/Jagjaguwar imprint, Dead Oceans (breaking news!). According to Longstreth, the album is a kind-of rote cover of the Black Flag album Damaged, and features Chris Taylor from Grizzly Bear. As far as a setlist goes, Longstreth says his upcoming performance at Neumos on March 5 won’t be as much of a surprise as his last (where he debuted all new stuff), as content from New Attitude and Rise Above will all be visited. And for all you artcore beefcakes out there, sorry, no XL t-shirts

The last time I went to Sonar, the artist I was most eager to see was Jeff Mills, one of techno’s revered godfathers, he of the rapid-fire three-decks-plus-a-909 DJ sets, whose high-minded futurism and technical wizardry is widely imitated but rarely matched among contemporary producers. I’d heard bootlegs of his intense sets, seen videos of him throwing the fader to a new record every 25 seconds then throwing the old one over his shoulder, listened as others go all slack and drooly when recounting the last time they heard him play.

But when he finally came on the decks, all I could say was “Damn, that’s a nice sweater.” It’s 3:30 a.m. and we’re in an airplane hangar with 50,000 Spanish kids on E, and dude walks in wearing a lavender cardigan sweater. Granted, it was a minimal sweater — his tastes tend to lean towards elegant simplicity masking unbelievable complexity, with pieces that look like a plain old pair of jeans until you realize they’re limited edition Japanese techno trousers sewn by robots in a clean room and sold for ¥85000 at hyper-exclusive Tokyo boutiques only on even-numbered days. The man is a serious aesthete who loves his clothes.

So it’s not at all surprising that he and his Axis Records partner Yoko Uozumi are now opening a clothing store. Collectors take note, you heard it here first. Skirts are the new records.

Ever get the urge to cover a song by Faust? You know Faust: At their best, the krautrock legends are the greatest avant-rock group in the world. Check out their box set The Wümme Years: 1970-73 for ample proof.

On April 1 in Seattle, several bands are going to pay tribute to Faust. Would you like to join them? Then send an email to Jason Glover (jasonmglover@yahoo.com) with “Faust Night” in the subject line and see if you can get in where you fit in.

Click through to read Glover’s call for Faust worshippers to step forth.

I’ve got a question for the Line Out readership. No fewer than three times a week I’ll be standing at a show of some sort and someone will come up and ask me about my earplugs, often just wondering what they are since they give a bit of a Frankenstein effect sticking from my ears. I’ll give them the information, and the exchange usually closes with them saying something like “It’s so good that you do that. I should start doing that myself.” On occasion I’ll run into that same individual and inevitably they aren’t wearing earplugs. Outside of the curious, I’ll look around a venue at a sea of people and only be able to pick out a handful doing anything to protect their ears. I don’t think I’m some sort of paranoid health nut and so I’m left concerned. Why aren’t more people wearing earplugs? Why don’t you?

(Note: I wear these. They’re not expensive, don’t muffle the sound, and provide more flexibility than even some of the custom earplugs you can get.)

I feel a little goofy posting this since the song I’m about to drool all over is by a local band whose roster includes one former and one current Stranger staffer. But then again, when has feeling goofy about something ever stopped me from doing it?

Exactly.

So I was just at Honeyhole grabbing a late lunch (Big Smooth, so good) and playing on their stereo was Harvey Danger’s latest album Little by Little. I haven’t listened to it in many months, but I was reminded of how much I do like this record. More importantly, though, I remembered how much I love the song “Little Round Mirrors.”

The fluid piano, that beautiful and proud French horn, and the delicate ba ba ba baaa’s that all come together in the song’s slow-build to a climax only to, minutes later, explode with starry guitar, more sweeping horns, and Sean Nelson’s voice that aches with just the right amount of conviction.

I do believe it might be the best song Harvey Danger has ever released. I really, really do.

Guilty Pleasure
Re: Every couple months or so when I’m sitting here working on the books calendar with headphones on..

I’m rocking out to this while I do the theater calendar. (It’s by a Belgian!) I have a terrible tendency towards circular listening/watching/thinking—and if I watch this one more time, I think I’m going to have a seizure.

(Or click on this smaller one for less seizure-inducing viewing):

(Or if anyone wants to revisit his LSD days—I’m looking at you, Segal—click one, then the other.)

Guilty Pleasure
Every couple months or so when I’m sitting here working on the books calendar with headphones on…

Yes. I know. But. It came out when I was 13 years old, and it was really big in the suburbs, and the video for “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm” seemed like the best thing ever. We ate Hot Pockets and drank Sprite and played Risk on the computer and listened to this album again and again and again. The song “Afternoons & Coffeespoons” references T. S. Eliot, and I remember we all wondered who T. S. Eliot was. We asked our parents. We asked our parents’ friends. None of the adults we knew knew who T. S. Eliot was.

Which is my excuse for listening to it while I write the books calendar.

Jen Graves is rocking out to something at her desk. No way it’s as terrible and embarrassing as what I’m silently singing along to.

On my drive to and from Olympia today, I was going with a Them collection (Van Morrison’s 1964/65 Howlin’ Wolf as teenage garage rock band), and I kept hitting repeat on their other hit: “Here Comes the Night.”

I love this song, but kept wishing (and experimenting myself singing in the car) that he didn’t sing the verse in that silly show-tune-skiffle syncopation way, but rather drew it out and did it straight.

Are there any covers of this great song where someone does the verse like a lazy rock band and then comes down heavy as witchcraft with the greatest chorus ever?

Kirk Rundstrom, singer, songwriter, guitarist, and dobro player for kick-ass Kansas speed-bluegrass outfit Split Lip Rayfield, passed away today, according to a press release issued by the band’s label, Bloodshot Records. (Read the whole press release after the cut.) As I reported back in November, Rundstrom had been battling cancer, and the band’s show at the Tractor in late 2006 was part of their final tour.

Sad. Very, very sad. I’m gonna go spin Should Have Seen It Coming and crack open a tallboy now.

I like but do not love the Arcade Fire. I enjoyed Funeral, and I definitely think they’re a force for artistic good, but the passion that grips diehard Arcade Fire fans has largely passed me by. This may be because I’ve never seen them live, where they reportedly shine the brightest, and where they’re most likely to live up to my still-favorite description of the group (“the alternarock version of Rushmore’s Max Fischer Players”—Spin or Blender or something, 2005ish).

But last night I heard the song “(Antichrist Television Blues)” from the band’s forthcoming Neon Bible, and it freaked me out with pleasure. The music sounds likes the E Street Band with Moe Tucker on drums, and the vocal sound almost eerily similar to a young Bruce Springsteen. (E Street emulation—all the best bands are doing it!) It’s also the most full-blooded song I’ve ever heard from the Arcade Fire, and I can’t stop playing it.

When I can, maybe I’ll be able to listen to and form an opinion on the rest of the album, which I’ve heard described by my Stranger peers Megan Seling and Eric Grandy as “dark and scary” with upsetting segments where the band “yells at you in French.”

Sound-people of Seattle, you are failing me. Last night’s Thermals show at Chop Suey was the third big sold-out show I’ve been to in two weeks with just totally shitty sound. This is unacceptable. The band started with “Here’s Your Future,” and its muted intro was inaudible—no guitar, no voice. I thought it was intentional, that when the song kicked in things would explode, but when the rest of the band joined in in only the bass and the drums cut through the crowd. And there were two guitarists on stage! And Hutch Harris’ vocals are so necessary! Things improved imperceptibly, but by the time I left (just as the band played the electric “How We Know”) it still sounded awful.

What is going on, Seattle? It is simply criminal to take albums as good as The Body, The Blood, The Machine, Oh, Inverted World, and Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? and subject them to bad sound design in front of a packed house. I call bullshit.

REAL TO REAL
The official debut of Real to Real goes off with a bang tonight, featuring Foscil, Original Space Neighbors, Kamui, Introcut, Hideki, Bumble B, and Madman. Original Space Neighbors is actually Seattle’s closest thing to Kool Keith (the sci-fi-obsessed Keith, not the sex- ‘n’ scat-obsessed Keith). Consisting of producer S. Future and rapper Mic Mulligan (both personas are actually underground icon Specs One), OSN often sound like a Twilight Zone episode remixed by Madlib. The music on Original Space Neighbors’ self-titled debut is spacey, off-kilter funk, the rapping’s too-cool-for-old-school, and the whole thing’s pleasantly disorienting. Amid a plague of bellowing misogynists and blustering pseudo gangstas, it’s a relief to hear an MC intone intriguing lyrics as if he’s confiding to you from the next barstool. Specs collaborators Foscil are some of the funkiest white boys this region’s produced in a while. I keep waiting for Ninja Tune to flap open its checkbook for these guys. Baltic Room, 1207 E Pine St, 625-4444, 9 pm—2 am, free, 21+. DAVE SEGAL

BOB SEGER
(KeyArena) This is my straight face. And this is my sincere appreciation for Bob Seger. Many a hater have never been exposed to the raring blast of his early outfit the Bob Seger System and their late-’60s, Detroit-bred garage rock. The albums are long out of print and hard to find (unless you’re willing to shell out $125 on Amazon), almost as if the Seeg would prefer the big-belt-buckle set that’s his present constituency to forget he was ever a finger-giving radical. But radical he was, though these days he’s coasting on a legacy of middle-of-the-open-road anthems and innocuous blue-collar soul he established back during the oil crisis. It’ll probably be the Chevy-shilling Seger that’ll show up tonight, but we can always hope for a flashback. After all, rock ‘n’ roll never forgets. JONATHAN ZWICKEL

Let this be the last post—EVER! ever in the history of LINE OUT!—about the Shins.

But I gotta say, I’m with Grandy. If you were at home last night listening to the Shins on your headphones, you got the better show. I’ve seen them live five or so times, and their shows are just nothing on their albums. Fratty banter aside, they play like they’re nervous. They play each song like: Let’s get through this one as fast as possible. The fast songs they play faster, and the slightly slower ones—like “Caring Is Creepy,” which is the first song on their first album and the last song they played last night before the encore—they play hastily. (And the drums were nowhere to be heard. Who’s in charge of sound these days at the Paramount and the Showbox?) The two-song encore—TWO songs?—they rushed through, too. Are they skittish? Do they just not give a shit?

I quoted the beginning of “Caring Is Creepy” in this review of the new album. I should have quoted the whole song—hearing Mercer sing it last night made me admire the lyrics all over again. Especially this bit:

Hold your glass up, hold it in
Never betray the way you’ve always known it is.
One day I’ll be wondering how
I got so old just wondering how
I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow.

(For what it’s worth, another Greatest Band of All Time According to Me, Belle & Sebastian, is underwhelming in concert too…)

Tonight the Thermals play an all-ages show at Chop Suey with Helvetia and Speaker Speaker. Eric Grandy is stoked. He wrote a great piece about the Portland trio in this week’s paper, which you can read in its entirety here.

Dystopian fictions hold a dual appeal during dark times: They serve as cautionary inspirations for hopeful protesters to hold aloft in warning, and they act as gentle reminders that things aren’t quite that bad yet—in the midst of Reagan’s 1984 we could still sleep tight knowing that at least it wasn’t Orwell’s 1984. So it is with the Thermals’ transcendent, conceptual masterwork The Blood, the Body, the Machine, a new addition to the dystopian canon that’s basically the album Green Day weren’t clever enough to make with American Idiot—a scathing, scary glimpse of a red-state, theocratic future America, all Infinite Justice and endless, abstract war and terror.

I’ve always argued that Four Minute Mile is my favorite Get Up Kids record (followed by the Red Letter Day/Woodson EP), but today’s deceivingly cold sunlight calls for something a little brighter, a little lighter, something that isn’t so goddamn mopey. Today calls for Something to Write Home About. Specifically, “Holiday,” “Action and Action,” “Red Letter Day,” “Ten Minutes,” and “Close to Home.” (We’re skipping “Valentine,” “Out of Reach,” and “I’ll Catch You.” I said no mopey shit, remember?)

The first ten seconds of this record, the intro to “Holiday,” kills me—that bad ass sliding guitar, the drums blasting in from the ether, the subtle but perfectly placed keyboards that turn it from angsty rock to a cathartic dance vibe. It’s such a good energy. Lyrically, it’s a little whiney (the opening line is, after all, “What became of everyone I used to know? Where did our respectable convictions go?”), but melodically it’s bursting with optimism.

And yeah, even the slower jams are good for when you want to bring things down a step, but right now I don’t want to.

My all-time favorite moment on the whole album, though, is at the 2:32 mark in “Close to Home”—when Matt Pryor does that “woo!”, that really adorable and fun-to-sing-along-to “woo.” I love that “woo,” it’s perfect.

My love stops there, though; I’m still a little miffed that TGUK completely skipped Seattle during their farewell tour. Way to leave us hanging. I’m also still bummed that they ever wrote, recorded and released On A Wire and Guilt Show. What lame records.

Last night PBS aired the documentary Hip-hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes, a look at gender issues in hiphop by “former college quarterback turned activist” Byron Hurt. The film addresses sexism and homophobia in the male-dominated genre through interviews with Chuck D, Jadakiss, Mos Def, Russell Simmons, and a whole bunch more. I was wincing the night away with the Shins so I missed it, but the preview clip below raises a lot of fascinating issues.

From Crimethinc.’s divisive but awesome introductory text, Days of War, Nights of Love, a thought about the mechanics of making music on a large scale as opposed to playing in the mythical basement:

We’re taught to think of our success in terms of numbers, aren’t we? If touching one person’s life is a good thing, then touching one thousand people’s lives must be a great thing. It’s easy to see where we learned to think this way: our whole society revolves around mass production. The more units we can move, the more customers we can serve, the more votes we get, the more money and stuff we have, the better, right?
But maybe it’s not possible to touch a thousand people as deeply or as powerfully as one person or ten people.

Milling around among the (polar)-fleeced thousands at last night’s Shins concert at the Paramount, I thought about that old Crimethinc. passage, and I thought about the Shins’ purported ability to change lives. If they are, it’s not happening at the Paramount (well maybe a little during “A Comet Appears”), it’s happening at home on listeners’ headphones, where the sound is clear and James Mercer’s words can properly take hold of the mind. (And if they are changing hearts and minds by the thousands, to what end?)

Or maybe that’s just me being an old fart. Maybe lots of people were deeply touched last night. Anybody?

If you missed yesterday’s ribbon-cutting ceremony, take a peak at the video below to see the mayor congratulate Vera, and (with only a little struggle with the oversized scissors) officially open its new venue.

Featuring Charles Gocher, of course. I feel like everyone should take up this video and continue the quasi-Droste effect; it would be a fitting tribute.

Lyrics from the album version:

I protect you from me…
I know what I’m doing.
If I didn’t I’d be lying and we’d both be to blame
for what you might do if I did the wrong deeds
while I care for myself with the impressions I bring
to the whole world in general and you in particular,
when you see the deception I’ve formed in this song,
most your theories and insights will be proven wrong.

So listen, my friend, to the portrayal I give
of my system of knowing
your weakness and faults
and take heed in the knowledge
that we all can be prone to commit acts of thievery
when we’re hungry and homeless
and more than the greedy with more than they need;
more than that; just like people with children to feed.

My impression is deceiving.
I’ve robbed you of more
than what you might find in an old grocery store.
So you think that I’ve robbed you of more?
Well, you’re right. I’ve said little of that which you’d murder for.
Of all the ideas that spring from your head,
if you had no conscience, you’d soon want me dead.

Therefore, contradict all that your conscience implies;
for pleasure, for safety, for reason and lies
and the pain that you feel when you reflect on it,
has a coincidental reflection of death,
and the seaweed that would twist around me and my soul,
has no conscience to save you as we slowly roll
to the bottom of that which is larger than this,
for a method of reversing perspective no less.

And now you can feel what it’s like to be me…
Take refuge in knowing that I protect you from me.

I’ve never been much allured by Zappa and his prolific lunacy, but Sun Ra’s long and varied career continues to fascinate me. As composers and musical innovators, they’re similar: One plays to the mind, the other plays to the heart. I’ll always take Sun Ra’s solar soul over Zappa’s sonic contortionism. Still, Ra’s catalog is so vast that it’s hard to know where to break in.

The above link is an hour-long mix compiled by a pair of DJs, 1.1 and Max Cole, at London’s Other Worlds record store label. It runs through over 25 songs from Sun Ra’s oeveure — vocal chants, sax solos, electric abstraction, percussion breaks, and truly gorgeous melodies. You can find the entire track list and some great photos here.

I know the man was a genius and I’m only now beginning to understand why.

With deep regret, we must announce that Charles Gocher passed away yesterday in Seattle due to a long battle with cancer at the age of 54. He is survived by the two of us who adopted him as a brother 25 years ago and his many friends around the world. He will be missed more than most could ever know. Our thanks to everyone for their support and encouragement during the past three, very difficult years. Many of you were not aware that Charles was ill and that’s because he wanted it that way. Details of a memorial in his honor will be announced soon.

I used to love this song. Anyone remember that Double Exposure Go-Kart Records comp from the late ’90s? It was only a few bucks, but I think you had to buy it at Hot Topic. It had something like 50 bands on two discs. Some good, some terrible, and if I remember correctly, this song was on it. I’ll have to check when I get home to be sure. Either way, I had completely forgotten about it until my super-awesome sister reminded me.

I already posted aboutBeyond Beats & Rhymes (documentary examining masculinity in hip-hop) a few weeks ago, but the actual premiere airing of the documentary is tonight (for many of you non-Seattle readers anyway). I cleared my schedule to watch tonight, but come to find out it’s not playing in Seattle until the night of the 25th (11pm, KCTS). Check the schedule to find times for your area.

Also, on a completely unrelated note for Megan, here’s the definitive version of “Since You Been Gone.” You want campy and ridiculous? Here ya go.

Charlie’s room is a sacred space. An adolescent capsule. A portal of symbols and items that signify rite of passage. My experience there before, listening to his 8 Tracks and Vinyl and sharing stories about saved Yoohoo bottles was profound. I returned to further the inquiry. Charlie is 13, and a guru.

First, he put on Hendrix’s 1967 Axis: Bold as Love, then he went right to Iron Maiden’s, “2 Minutes to Midnight,” off of the 1984 Powerslave. He turned the lights off and the black light on and said, “You have to hear this.”

“The killers breed or the demons seed / The glamour, the fortune
The pain, go to war again / Blood is freedom’s stain
But dont you pray for my soul anymore / 2 minutes to midnight”

Then I noticed the Iron Maiden poster, right behind his bed of “The Trooper.” Eddie, Maiden’s scowling, lobotomised, demonic mascot charges from the death of battle, fresh off a kill. And Charlie has it right behind where he puts his head down to sleep at night, next to a picture of his sister, Molly.

However, to Charlie and the legions of Maiden fans, Eddie and the poster aren’t about death and killing. Much to the opposite in fact. Sure, Eddie celebrates a dark, combative side, but the skeletal, red eyed monster really stands for life and camaraderie and killing, in the rock sense. Eddie is about kicking ass, and that’s why Charlie has the poster behind his bed.

We need more symbolic death, instead of actual death. We need more healthy outlets for combativeness and frustration. And Charlie, here, hits right on it. We need more Maiden.

Once again, Charlie, my Master, you enlighten and enhance. I thank you.

With the great line-up the Vera Project has booked for their grand opening weekend (Common Market, Grayskul, These Arms Are Snakes, Akimbo, Mt. Eerie, Holy Ghost Revival, Tiny Vipers, etc.), no doubt most of you will be visiting the new Seattle Center venue (at the corner of Republican and Warren) at some point this weekend, but for those who don’t want to wait another damn day to see Vera’s new digs, they’re officially cutting the ribbon today at 3 pm.

The mayor will be there, as will a giant pair of scissors and snacks.

In other news, the Shins are currently playing a free in-store performance at the Queen Anne Easy Street, and Kelly O and I just went to stalk them and try to take some video. But the band’s manager denied us. No video. Still shots okay, but no video. “It’s better for everyone that way,” he said while wearing a dumb hat. Better for who, exactly? Whatever. I know someone had to have caught a song or two with their cell phone’s video camera. If you’re that person, send it on over. I’ll post it.

I’m working on a review of the new Arcade Fire record, Neon Bible, and I’m wondering if anybody out there has read John Kennedy Toole’s book of the same name. I’ve checked out the Wikipedia entry for it, but was wondering if anybody might be able to expand on its cliffs notes-style summary or maybe explain some of the book’s themes. I never much cared for Confederacy of Dunces, so I probably won’t read this book. Feel free to spoil it for me.

About a week ago I got all emo for a brief moment, and asked for your help. And boy did you help. I needed some suggestions on what to listen to after being dumped, and your list included everything—there were very familiar favorites (Jawbreaker, Jawbox, Mirah, Alkaline Trio, Botch, the Cure), as well as worthy artists that I rarely (if ever) listen to (Strictly Ballroom, Sleater Kinney, Portishead, Brightblack Morning Light, Dystopia, and classical music).

So thank you.

I’m slowly trying to work my way through all the suggestions (to take the opportunity to get into some new music, and reintroduce myself to old favorites, if nothing else), but I haven’t even begun to crack it open. It’s been a nice distraction.

After thinking about it, though, I’m a little concerned that there wasn’t a single suggestion to crank up Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone.” In hindsight, that seems like a pretty obvious choice… campy and ridiculous, yeah, but obvious.

In fact, there’s a not-the-best-recording of Ted Leo covering the tune posted on YouTube. I’m a big fan of TL, so even in its shoddiness, it made me smile.

“Scorpio” by Detroit guitarist Dennis Coffey was one of the crucial gateway drugs that led to my addiction to funk. For that reason, it will always hold a special place in my trunk.

Growing up in the Detroit area in the 1960s/70s (forgive me if I sound like a broken record), I listened to a lot of radio. Back then, some commercial stations were actually damned good. You could hear an incredible funk instrumental like “Scorpio” or Billy Preston’s similarly stunning “Outta-Space” during prime time and nobody in radio’s power structure thought that Western civilization would crumble or that mass heart attacks would ensue. Now, that’s all changed, of course. Oh, how we’ve fallen…

But this post isn’t about the decadent state of commercial radio; this is about the unfuckwithable magnificence of “Scorpio,” one of the funkiest tracks ever cut (you can also check it on Coffey’s MySpace). Released in 1971, the song was Motown session guitarist Coffey’s biggest solo hit (he also played on a grip of Temptations and Edwin Starr classics, among other gems in Motown’s mosaic of excellence, as well as lending six-string illumination to immortal hits like the Spinners’ “It’s a Shame” and Freda Payne’s “Band of Gold”).

“Scorpio” has gone on to get sampled by loads of recording artists (see list below from www.the-breaks.com) and to become a staple in the breakdance-enabling repertoire (I’ve seen awesome routines busted to it). I think it would make the best score ever for a fast-paced, sports highlight TV show or serve as dynamite accompaniment to a chase scene in a remake of Sweet Sweetback’s Baadassssss Song. Get “Scorpio” stuck in your head and you will never suffer an energy crisis.

Seattle-based not-for-profit One Reel announced this morning a five-year deal that will see the Bumbershoot organizers collaborate with AEG Live for talent buying, sponsorship, and underwriting. Based out of L.A., AEG Live is the second-largest live events producer in the world (after Clear Channel) and is the talent buyer for both Coachella and the New Orleans Jazzfest.

According to the press release, “this innovative arrangement will allow Bumbershoot to form a headliner talent and sponsorship consortium and share festival resources and strategies with two other respected U.S. festivals, the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival and the Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival.”

Hard to say what this means for Bumbershoot, other than headliners might now be identical to the other festivals AEG runs.

Whether we want to get into the ultra-conservative, Bush-supporting, oil-drilling on Native American land policies of Philip Anschutz, owner of dozens of multinational companies including Anschutz Events Group, is also unclear.

The press release continues, “AEG and One Reel worked together to create an original non-profit/for-profit collaboration that would achieve both party’s objectives, with a shared goal of preserving and continuing the artistic excellence and historical integrity of the 37-year-old Bumbershoot.”

Sounds OK, I guess. Bumbershoot producer Heather Smith apparently thinks so: “AEG has an outstanding reputation working with non-profits like The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival Foundation and NARAS. They have demonstrated their commitment to understanding each organization’s mission while helping to build upon successful events. This was a key factor in selecting AEG as a good fit for One Reel.”

Obviously there’s a lot of smoke to clear here. The ultimate question is, is this move good or bad for Bumbershoot? If it helps keep the festival viable on a local and national level, yes. If it means waiting four hours to get inside Memorial Stadium to see the Chili Peppers, no. Thoughts?

The acts for the 6th annual Sasquatch! Music Festival were announced this morning, with Björk and the Beastie Boys in the top slots. The bill also includes Arcade Fire, Interpol, M.I.A., and a returning Neko Case, who had to curtail her 2006 spot due to catastrophic weather. All total, this year’s shindig will feature over 50 artists (including my nemesis Citizen Cope) on three stages, Memorial Day Weekend (Sat. May 26 and Sun. May 27) at the Gorge Amphitheatre. Tickets go on sale Sat. March 3 at 10:00 AM.

Justify Your Pod is the Stranger podcast featuring writers, musicians, and various other celebrity victims defending the most suspicious, troubling, and incriminating songs on their iPods.

This week, I grill longtime Stranger writer/Harvey Danger frontman Sean Nelson. Among the talking points: the debatable badassery of the Association, the valuable cocksucking knowledge of NWA, and the pros and cons of being “knee deep in the mocha.”Enjoy.

Holly’s widow, Maria Elena, was flown in for the opening shows. Billy Joe got to play her some songs on Buddy’s famous Stratocaster. Then he was left alone with the guitar and for a second, was tempted to take it to Mexico. He talks about it here.

The little lady cutting it up on stage at the beginning of the clip is the 72 year old Maria Elena Holly.

FEBRUARY 19, 1600
The massive eruption of Peru’s volcano Huaynaputina, which remains the largest volcanic explosion in South American history, with a Volcanic Explosivity Index of 6, meaning that if you were standing a mile away, you were hit with somewhere around 180 decibels, meaning that your ear drums instantly shattered. Windows break at 168 decibels.

FEBRUARY 19, 1964
A Hungarian Jewish kid—OK, he’s 22—named Paul Simon writes “The Sound of Silence,” the song that will make him and his blond buddy famous.

FEBRUARY 19, 1968
Today saw the TV debut of Mr. Rodgers’ Neighborhood, beginning with a theme song (“It’s a beautiful day in the naaay-borhood…”) that American children would have stuck in their heads long after they were no longer children.

FEBRUARY 19, 1980
AC/DC’s Bon Scott is silenced forever by his asthma, or acute alcohol poisoning, or choking on his own vomit, or heroin, or exhaust fumes, depending on whom you believe.

FEBRUARY 19, 2006
The Rolling Stones do their white-boy blues rock thing for 1.3 million people in Rio de Janeiro.

FEBRUARY 19, 2007
The radiator in my apartment kicks in just after midnight and clanks and clangs and hisses and screams for a good two hours before I can fall asleep.

Saturday night’s Various show at Chop Suey was a fine night of mellow electronic variations, but the unexpected highlight of the night was Scientific American and Mr. Piccolo’s ghostly pop and hip hop reworks. Here’s two mixes of his from the past year that should give a good idea of what you missed if you weren’t there, courtesy of mass.mvmnt:

The Shins played last night. Heard of ‘em? I wasn’t able to make it to the show, but Stranger contributor Matt Garman was there, and I asked him to tell me all about it. Here’s what he had to say:

“During the final song of the Shins’ set at the Paramount Theater last night, I felt something brush my head. I turned around to find an adult-sized teen attempting to crowd surf. He got hurled over me, and flew toward my girlfriend. She made the judicious decision not to try and catch him, and down he went. On one hand, it was totally awesome to see someone crowd surfing at a Shins show. On the other hand, it was totally ridiculous to see someone crowd surfing at a Shins show. When he attempted a second time, only to go down again moments later, I laughed like the bitter old man I have become. It was possibly the most memorable part of the night.

If you are a devoted Shins fan, someone who not only knows the words to all the songs but dotes on James Mercer’s marital status, then the show was probably fantastic. If, like me, you dig the Shins but are fairly certain the only reason they’re playing the prettiest venue in Seattle is because they got Braffed in 2004, then the show was a tad underwhelming.

The band stuck to an even mix of songs from all three of their albums, making sure to play every up-tempo piece in the catalog, with the other half of the set reserved for their more well-known mid-tempo tracks. From where we stood on the floor, the sound in the room was full and crisp, and at one point Mercer exclaimed ‘If my voice sounds rough, it’s just something wrong with your ears. Clean the shit outta your ears!’

As for the audience, I was expecting a much higher douchebag quotient and was therefore happy to be surrounded by so many ordinary folks. They were an appreciative crowd—singing, hooting, texting their friends, calling up special someones during numbers you might hold a lighter up for in years past. Still, this is Seattle—people rarely dance in Seattle. Three different times the Shins asked if we were having fun. ‘You guys are so noisy and wild, we can’t hear ourselves think up here,’ said Dave Hernandez, the band’s bassist (and former frontman of the Seattle band Broadcast Oblivion). ‘Can you just be quiet and not move?’ Clever.

After playing for about 90 minutes, they returned for a two-tune encore, leading with ‘Someone I Care About,’ described by Mercer as ‘a Modern Lovers cover we’ve been messing around with.’ The song is a foot-stomping rock jam that gave the Shins an opportunity to flex their might as a tight and powerful unit (featuring Viva Voce’s Kevin Robinson on cowbell!), with the unforgettable lines, ‘Well I don’t want just a girl to fool around with / I don’t want just a girl to ball, no / What I want is a girl that I care about / Or I want nothing at all.’

Portland’s Viva Voce opened the show. The husband and wife duo of Kevin and Anita Robinson are a talented pair, with Kevin somehow playing guitar, drums, and…okay seriously I have no idea how that guy was playing bass and theremin and shit too, but he was making it happen. I feel confident that it wasn’t any pre-recorded nonsense, but I’m also just not tall enough to be able to see what exactly he was doing with his feet. Anita Robinson sang most of the lead vocals, and swung her axe in true guitar-hero fashion. They make a lot of sound for two people; my girlfriend called them a Bizzaro-world White Stripes. In the end, Viva Voce led me to the conclusion that guitar-solo wankery will always be wankery, regardless of the gender of the wanker. Also, if you’re going to pull out a double-neck guitar, please use both necks on one song. Just saying.”

Thanks, Matt.

The Shins and Viva Voce are playing the Paramount again tomorrow night. According to the Paramount’s website, tickets are still available via ticketmaster. They’re $25 a pop. But watch out for crowd surfers.

Tonight, button that top button and get your narrow ass out to Havana for Fresh Produce, DJ Soul One’s producer-focused hiphop weekly. Tonight the good Doctor Dre and the whole Untouchable Death Row family gets the treatment. This should be one night on Cap Hill when having clean Chucks is encouraged for once.

If you trust Dave Segal (as many of you do, and as many of you should), you’ll be at Gallery 1412 tonight for this show:

HEAVY LIDS, SON OF ROSE
(Gallery 1412) Seattle’s Son of Rose (Kamran Sadeghi) is always a riveting live performer, whether he’s using treated piano or laptop. His tactile, finely granulated compositions teem with iridescent sound molecules that expand to galactic dimensions on a good system. Heavy Lids (Portland guitarist Marc Manning) generates spectral drones and what sound like phantasmal monk hums in his epic devotional instrumentals. His new CD, Things Are Happening at the Same Time (Dragon’s Eye Recordings), is like a 36-minute tantric-sex shudder rendered in seemingly static yet perpetually glistening guitar tones. It could be three seconds of Sterling Morrison’s guitar and John Cale’s viola snipped from the Velvet Underground’s “Venus in Furs” and then inflated into a mystical symphony: sublimely immersive stuff. DAVE SEGAL